


in front of a crowd

by ebonyandunicorn



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: A Cappella, Badass three-part harmonies feat. the Schuyler sisters, Beatboxing, Charles Lee is still a loser, Eliza is a beatboxing queen, John Laurens is a beatboxing nerd, M/M, Nudity, Shower duets, Singing, Slowburn lams, Timeline What Timeline, freestyling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7493535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebonyandunicorn/pseuds/ebonyandunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which alexander hamilton is the leader of a revolutionary a cappella group (and john laurens is the beca to his chloe).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. doesn't hesitate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander Hamilton ambushes a beatboxing John Laurens in the shower.

It was dark outside by the time John Laurens made his way down the dorm corridor towards the showers. Towel around his waist, a washbag swinging carelessly from one hand, he whistled absentmindedly as he meandered into the tiled room and beheld the row of mildly grimy curtains. Grimacing slightly, John drew one aside and hung the washbag on a hook before inching into the stall. He let the towel fall from his waist and waited for the water to heat. 

As the temperature reluctantly began to transition from Arctic Freakin’ Winter to Autumn in Alaska, John began, almost without thinking, to beatbox. It was a useless skill he’d picked up in junior high trying to impress Martha Manning and, surprising everyone – himself most of all – he’d actually been good at it. Since then it had won him a grand total of one bar hook-up, so he’d stopped trying to impress people and relegated it to something in the shower to pass the time. 

Minnesota Spring was warm enough, John decided. He ducked under the tepid spray and let the water stream through his curls. God, what a weird first week. His mouth continued to move in rhythm, the beatboxing amplified impressively by the tiled surrounds. He’d definitely made a mistake with Intro to Philosophy – that lecturer made drying paint look fascinating by comparison – and his roommate, Sam Seabury, wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of people either. 

Maybe college wasn’t for him. He hadn’t managed to join a single club or society. What was he even doing here? The bass sound rumbled in his throat, the hi-hat snapping off the smooth walls. He broke off the rhythm abruptly with a drawn-out, exasperated scratch. 

And then the curtain was shoved aside. 

“Dude, that sounds _sick!_ ” 

“What the fuck –” 

John’s first, terrified thought was of some kind of hazing ritual, and his fists were halfway up in self-defence before he recognised the man standing before him. Straight black hair, uncommitted stubble, eyes that were intelligent and way too intense. John couldn’t remember the guy’s name, but he vaguely remembered him from the activities fair. Except he hadn’t been butt-naked then. Either of them. 

“How low can your bass go?” 

“My... what?” 

Without any kind of apology, he reached past John and turned off the water. 

“Oh my God!” 

“You _have_ to audition for The Federalists.” 

Alexander, John remembered. His name was Alexander. 

“This is _not_ appropriate –” 

“Come on, man! You ’box like you were _born_ doing it!” Alexander was one hundred percent unapologetic, enthusiastic, and very very naked. Suddenly keeping his eyes up was the hardest thing John had ever done. 

“I am nude –” he protested weakly. 

“Me too, we’re even, it’s fine, whatever. Come on, do that scratch thing again. That was incredible.” Casual as a cat, Alexander leaned against the grubby plastic separating the showers. The movement accentuated the smooth curve of his bicep. 

“Dude, no. Get out!” 

“I’m not leaving here until you beatbox for me,” Alexander said easily, and folded his arms, and there it was. 

It became too hard to keep his eyes up, so John closed them instead. He licked his lips in preparation, then realised what he had done, then felt himself blushing to the roots of his wet hair. _Jesus fucking Christ._

The opening hum was warbling at best, and his kick wasn’t nearly as crisp as usual. But he didn’t trip over the rhythm; it came as naturally as it always had, if perhaps a little faster than usual. The sounds blended seamlessly into each other, steady bass, punchy snare, punctuated by the occasional scratch, but always returning to a smooth tempo. It was so instinctive, so easy, he could almost forget about the attractive naked guy standing two feet away from him. Almost. 

And then Alexander began to rap. 

“Yo! I’m Alexander, and I’m here freestylin'  
With my buddy on the beat, bouncin’ off the tilin’  
Hey! Watch out Barden, ’cause we’re coming for you  
In the shower every hour, wait and see what we do  
It’s true! I bring the words, and he brings the beat  
The two of us a team, yeah it’s gonna be sweet  
No time to wait, gotta see what we got  
Me and Laurens, we’re not throwin’ away our shot!  
_Boom!_ ” 

John finished with a noise mimicking an explosion, and Alexander let out a triumphant whoop. “That was great!” he shouted, beaming at John. “You are a _machine!_ ” 

John’s eyes were open now, and he was grinning. “Did you make that up on the spot?” he asked, his breathing slightly faster from the effort. 

Alexander laughed. “That’s what freestyling means, man.” 

“That’s so cool. That was just… cool.” He felt strangely invigorated, flushed and short of breath, like he’d just finished a marathon. 

“Right?” Alexander quirked an eyebrow. “So, you’re in?” 

“What? I…” When he’d started at college, the last thing John Laurens had wanted to do was join a dorky, bizarrely-named a cappella group. But then, he’d never expected a naked duet in the showers with another man either. 

Not outside of dreams, anyway. 

“I’ll see,” John finished lamely, accepting the towel Alexander passed to him. 

And then a second later he was intensely glad that he had because Alexander winked, actually _winked_ at him as he turned to leave the stall. “See you at auditions!” 

And if John watched his ass disappear into another stall, well, he was still recovering from the strangeness of the whole thing.


	2. rise up, I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Schuyler sisters, a cappella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all asked and I delivered. Welcome to what is officially the first ever Hamilton/Pitch Perfect AU.

“For your audition,” GW declared, pacing the stage with one finger raised like a war general, “each of you will be singing sixteen bars of Billy Joel’s _For The Longest Time_. If a group likes you, they will contact you directly. My tone-deaf sidekick Charlie here will be collecting your information.” 

“If I could sing a lick,” Charles Lee declared morosely, “in any human way possible, I would, but I can’t, and I hate myself every day because of it!” 

“I know.” GW spared Lee a sympathetic glance before resuming his pacing. “But,” he boomed, catching every freshman in turn with his thoroughly intimidating gaze, “if you think this is just some high school club where you can sing and dance your way through any big social issue, or confused sexuality, you have come to the wrong place. There is _none_ of that here. That’s high school. This shit? Is _real life_. Now don’t just bring it! Sing it! And let’s do this!” 

At a table in front of the audience, Alexander Hamilton was gazing at the stage with such intensity it was as though he was hoping good singers would magically appear under the strength of his stare. The past year of a cappella hadn’t exactly been kind to The Federalists. Not only had their top-notch cadre of seniors graduated, leaving Alex and his fellow sophomores running the show, but they’d managed to blow their first – and maybe only – chance at winning the International Championship of Collegiate A Cappella. Not to mention the fight he’d had with James over the summer. And then there was Aaron Burr… 

Aaron Burr. Even _thinking_ his name made Alex’s blood boil. They had been friends since Alex was in junior high, had formed The Federalists together their first year at Barden. Alex had always idolised the older boy, even though they mightn’t always have agreed on song choices or choreography. But after the ICCAs, Aaron had just upped and left – defected to join SMDR, the cloyingly flashy a cappella group run by TJ, a boy who had been doing everything possible to get under Alex’s skin since the day they’d started at Barden University. It was a betrayal of the highest order. 

Charlie and GW began to take the information of the auditioners. Alex, who was trying slightly too hard not to scour the audience for a familiar freckled face, welcomed the distraction of the door opening on the right of the hall. “Mads!” he greeted James happily, waving him over towards the desk. “Hey, man, I haven’t seen you all term. Wait, where’re you –” 

Without looking at Alex, James Madison marched straight past the Federalists’ desk and sat beside Aaron and TJ in the huddle of SMDR representatives. 

“Madison, my man!” TJ greeted him happily, holding up his hand for a high-five. 

“You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me,” Alex breathed, his gaze returning slowly to the stage. Aaron was one thing, but _James Madison?_ That hurt. And out of the damn blue, too. Maybe that fight over the Treasurer position had been more serious than Alex had thought. Worse still, he was now the sole remaining founding member of The Federalists. 

_These auditions had better be good._

GW, returning to the stage with a trio of girls in tow, cleared his throat. “And here’s the first act! Let’s go!” 

Alex dropped his chin into his hands, eyeing the trio speculatively, but without much enthusiasm. He’d seen his fair share of females perform, and none of them could hold a candle to the beat and energy of The Federalists. They introduced themselves in song: “Angelica.” “Eliza.” “And Peggy!” It was cute enough to make him wince. The one on the left hummed a starting note. 

Then they began: 

“Whoa, oh oh oh,  
For the longest time.” 

It was a neat enough three-part harmony, he supposed. The one in the middle – Angelica – sang the first verse, her voice solid and smooth, with the girls on either side supporting her. Peggy took the next verse, Eliza’s sweet soprano providing the delicate descant that contrasted with Peggy’s strong tone. Then they skipped to the bridge, led by Eliza, with Angelica and Peggy grinning at each other as they switched up the accompaniment from simple “oohs” to a funkier jazz harmony. 

“But I’ve gone this far,  
And it’s more than I hoped for…” 

At the end of the bridge they paused, the three of them grinning now, before Angelica nodded and Eliza brought her hands up to her mouth. 

Alex had to raise his eyebrows as the slim, unassuming girl began to beatbox with considerable skill, the sound carrying effortlessly throughout the auditorium despite her lack of microphone. It was Peggy who jumped back on the melody for the final verse, now considerably more up-tempo than before. Her powerful voice belted notes nowhere near the original with ease, making the hair stand up on the back of Alex’s neck. 

Peggy and Angelica closed out the last chorus with Eliza’s rhythm racing them along to the finish, a perfect cadence executed in flawless harmony. There was a second of stunned silence in the auditorium before the cheering began. Even Alex was clapping hard. He heard Aaron yell out, “Yeah, Angelica!” 

And that settled it for Alex: he would get these girls into The Federalists if it killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the GW/Charles Lee thing I'm so sorry 
> 
>  
> 
> The Schuylers' audition: [this lovely vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBbgdno5uwo) ft. [Pippa's beatboxing](https://youtu.be/RQXJcCIJJ5o?t=1m52s)


End file.
